


partners-in-crime

by erzi



Category: ACCA13区監察課 | ACCA 13-ku Kansatsuka
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14717864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erzi/pseuds/erzi
Summary: fics following weekly one-hour ninojean prompts inspired by such an event the japanese twitter fandom did. each chapter is its own oneshot.





	1. playful kisses

**Author's Note:**

> if u wanna check out the glorious art (and fics, if u can read japanese) done on twitter, [here's](https://twitter.com/hashtag/%E3%83%8B%E3%83%8E%E3%82%B8%E3%83%B3%E7%89%88%E6%B7%B1%E5%A4%9C%E3%81%AE60%E5%88%86%E4%B8%80%E6%9C%AC%E5%8B%9D%E8%B2%A0) the hashtag. this first chapter's name is word-for-word their prompt.

While Nino reads, Jean lies next to him. As his mind starts to drift into the peace of sleep, he's not thinking of anything in particular. He just takes comfort in Nino, warm and so-very-there. He shifts his head to look at his profile.

Nino is completely focused on his book. Jean watches Nino's eyes flick left and right as he reads; he watches the subtle changes in his expression as whatever mystery he's reading unfolds; he watches how Nino turns the page with one long, elegant finger.

_He even looks good reading_ , Jean thinks with a small, fond smile.

So he watches, absorbing these tiny details in Nino's countenance, details he himself doesn't know. Then, at one point, Nino's eyes brighten. The corner of his mouth turns up and he mumbles something that sounds like, 'Thought so.'

Something about it is just so endearing it makes Jean's heart flutter. He reaches up to give Nino a kiss right by his lips.

That brings Nino back to their little room. He blinks at Jean. "What was that for?" he asks.

"You figured something out in the book before the reveal, didn't you?"

"Yes, how'd you know?"

Jean smiles. "It showed on your face, and then you said 'Thought so.' It was cute. Made me want to kiss you. So I did."

Nino's hand reaches up to where Jean kissed him. "I did that?"

"Yes," Jean says, smile widening. "You're not as aloof when you read, you know."

"I didn't know that," Nino admits, sounding embarrassed.

"Mmm, of course not. You can't see your face when you read." Jean leans in close to his ear, whispering conspiratorially. "But I can, and I like it."

"Oh, you only like me when I read, then?" Nino teases, but Jean feels how his skin tingles from their proximity anyhow.

"No. I always like you," Jean quietly says, bending his head to kiss him again, this time to the edge of Nino's jaw. His arms reach around Nino to embrace him.

" _Jean_ ," Nino says, in half a laugh, half a scold, as Jean begins to trace Nino's jawline with his lips.

"Hmm?"

Jean is expecting a breathy, halfhearted 'Stop.' Instead, Nino tosses the book aside, turns, and Jean's lips next land on Nino's own without meaning to.

"There," Nino murmurs against his mouth, and now it's Jean's turn to feel the shiver down his spine. "Much better."

His kiss is much deeper, more insistent than Jean's, but he lets himself melt into it regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in 28 minutes, w/ an additional 6 minutes of editing


	2. seeing red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm dumb and it seems japanese twitter fandom's one-hour ninojean prompt thing was a one-time event. however i like the idea so from here on each week's prompt, which is the chapter title, is simply something i will self-impose.

Everywhere Nino looks, there is red.

There is red in the ACCA uniforms, an assertive pop of color to go with the austere black. The logo on the arm, the tie around the neck. Red and black, the colors of authority, of professionals. The colors Jean wears most often.

Jean. There is red with him, too; not on him as his work clothes, but quite literally _with_ him, in all those occasions the two of them traipse into a bar, order a bottle of wine, and drink the night away. Red wine is their favorite, for its taste. But privately, Nino really likes the color. Like rubies melted down yet cool on his tongue, flowing down his throat and making his eyesight gleam. Everything seems brighter: his wine glass, the yellow lights above them, the sleepy city outside the window, Jean's hair. Jean runs a hand through it, locks parting like woven gold, but now he has red in him as well. It's in his skin, flushed with alcohol.

Privately, Nino also likes that.

The pattern speckled on Jean's cheeks reminds Nino of flowers. Petals blooming from a center, reaching out, tapering. Roses. His mind is full of roses, coming down in the gentlest of rains, coming down in every shade imaginable. Princess Schnee liked white roses. So does Lotta. If Jean is fond of any rose, Nino doesn't know it. And what Jean himself doesn't know is that on more than one occasion, Nino's wanted to give him red roses. He is fully aware of their meaning. That is precisely why.

But he never has, never will, having only the thought of flowers and never the real things prickling his fingers, maybe drawing a little bit of blood, and a bit more, and some more and more still and it _hurts_ , it hurts unlike anything he's ever felt. Everything is spinning, and it is a ghastly white; he wants to ask anyone who is there or who will listen where the red has gone but his throat is stuffed with sand, and he's not sure he could even speak when the searing pain is all he can pinpoint-

 _We're almost there, Nino_ , a smudge on his left says amid an ambulance's wail. Pressure, he distantly feels pressure, something like... a hand? A hand on his. Nino blinks as if his lids are made of iron, and then his blurry sight focuses. The smudge is shaped like Jean, and now it's saying something that sounds like _Please hold on_ _, please_ in a voice like Jean's, too.

For less than a second, it becomes clear as crystal for Nino: _I'm in Furawau. I got shot in saving Jean._

He manages to meet Jean's gaze. Jean, noticing Nino's lucidity, leans in close. Red-rimmed eyes, red-stained shirt. He says, quietly, "Nino, I'm here. I'm here."

Nino might be smiling as his consciousness starts to trickle away. _I saved him. I did my job. I saved him..._

There is black.

He opens his heavy eyes.

A hospital room, kept in a somber blue. A surgeon also in blue, telling him what's just happened and what is going to happen: gunshot wounds to the back, nothing major hurt, complete recovery given time. The stuffy dark of the room is beginning to make Nino drowsy again. Then the surgeon opens the door, the blinding white hospital hallway lights bleeding into Nino's room. He squints, but is more awake now, if anything. The door closes, leaving him in the shadows.

 _No red here_ , he thinks, vaguely remembering what he'd been hallucinating in the ambulance ride here.

Light once more. Nino turns. Sees a Jean-shaped figure slowly walk in.

 _And there it is_ , he thinks, corner of his mouth turned up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in 56 minutes w/ an additional 14 minutes of editing so i went over the 60 minute limit a bit oops


	3. sweet

"Working in summer should be outlawed," Jean complains. His sleeves are rolled up, his jacket is thrown over his shoulder, but he's still uncomfortable in the heat.

"It's not technically summer yet."

Jean swats him with the arm of his jacket.

Nino laughs, and in his sunglasses' reflection Jean notes he himself is smiling. "Okay, fair. But come on, you spend _maybe_ twenty minutes outside in your commute." For some ungodly reason, he's still in black, although his trademark turtleneck is now a short-sleeved shirt. Jean can see the way his muscles in his well-toned arms move as they walk. So he's not really complaining.

"It's longer today in walking to the restaurant."

"Hold your jacket over you like a parasol."

He gives him a flat look. "No."

"Well, I did my best to advice you in these trying times."

"Very kind of you."

Nino smirks. "I know."

The sun beats on their backs, shimmering off the sidewalk in waves. There are no clouds on that blue sky to hide it. The back of Jean's hair is sticking to his neck with sweat. _I want something cold_ , he thinks. The restaurant is still seven or so blocks away. Too far.

A jaunty tune plays distantly, and draws nearer, as does the hum of a vehicle.

Jean looks about. "Am I hallucinating from the heat, or is there an ice cream truck somewhere?"

"I hear it, too."

Sure enough, it's coming from the opposite way, a giant soft-serve cone on the top marking it.

Jean waves to hail it.

"Ice cream before lunch?" Nino asks.

"It's the mark of adulthood."

The driver briefly gives them a funny look, but as they are customers, even if they are past the target age, he quickly regains his kindly smile.

"What can I get you fellas?"

"I'd like a strawberry ice cream, on a cone," Jean says.

"You are single-handedly keeping the strawberry industry alive," Nino mumbles with a smile.

"Do you want a chocolate cone?" Jean asks him, ignoring the jab because he can't deny it.

Nino thinks about it a moment. "Vanilla, actually."

Jean's eyebrows go up. "Vanilla? You?"

"We're still having lunch after, aren't we? Chocolate lingers. Vanilla not so much."

They get their ice cream and Jean pays. The truck drives away, the merry jingle fading.

A plaza lies two blocks ahead. There, they sit on a bench shaded by large oak trees and have their snack. The light dappling through the leaves plays patterns on their clothes.

"Thank you, by the way," Nino says.

"You're wel-" Jean turns in time to see the tip of Nino's tongue lick his ice cream, pink on white. "-come." He clears his throat.

"You should try other flavors," Nino suggests. "Be adventurous."

He looks down at his cone. He gives it a small lick, away from the side facing Nino. "But I like strawberry."

"You could like other flavors, too. Who knows."

Jean reaches the frozen chunk of a real strawberry and bites it, relishing the cold. "You can try them for me. I trust your palate."

"What, because I chose something different this time, I'm the taste-tester now?"

Jean smiles. "Yes."

"Fine," Nino says, surprising Jean. "Just for you."

The ice cream really is quite sweet.

Despite being in the shade, they can't fully escape the pervasive heat. The ice cream starts to melt. A drop of Jean's barely misses his pants, landing on the grass.

"You didn't happen to grab any napkins, did you?" Jean says, when he's done eating, fingers sticky.

"No, so I'm eating fast."

Jean glances at Nino. He's on the last third of his cone, but eating it from the bottom, which drips white on his lips.

Jean swallows.

The ice cream dribbles quicker now, and Nino accordingly sucks at it, mouth around the bottom of the cone.

_Oh my god_ , Jean thinks, turning away. The heat of the day glows on his face. Tentatively, he looks at Nino again. But he's finished now, and licks melted vanilla from the corner of his mouth. He catches Jean's eye above his sunglasses and smirks. "Kind of gross, huh? Sorry. Eating ice cream is messy. More when the weather's like this."

Jean doesn't trust himself to speak properly, so he halfheartedly nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in 44 minutes w/ 8 minutes of additional editing


	4. guardian

"-and that's exactly why," Jean says, slamming down his empty beer mug with a thunk, "there should be a Grossular Lane."

Nino smiles at him, one of his little I'm-listening-but-not-necessarily-agreeing smiles. Part of it is because Jean has had enough drinks that what he's saying is little more than a stream of consciousness, and there is no important information to glean from it. Mostly, though, his humorless smile is because this is a gushing Grossular ramble. Again.

"It'd be a good idea," Jean says, nodding to himself.

"I don't know that Congress would accept your reasoning that 'it sounds good, like his face,'" Nino says.

Jean pouts, making the flush of alcohol in his cheeks more prominent. "Then they're dumb."

Now Nino's smile is true. He doesn't like to goad Jean into drinking because it's a breach of their friendship. A cause with shameful motives. But he does get to see Jean drunk. His normally stoic nonchalance falls like a veil and leaves him with a loud whinge in his voice, a bluntness to his words, a glassiness to his eyes, a speckle of red in his face.

God help him, Nino likes it, and it makes him feel worse.

Nino motions to the empty mug. "More?"

Jean's face scrunches in concentration. "I think I have work tomorrow..."

"So that's a no?"

"I don't wanna go to work tomorrow."

He smirks. "A yes, then?"

"Ugh." Jean puts his head down in his hands. "No, I shouldn't. Let's go home."

Nino offers Jean his shoulder for support – another part he likes he knows he shouldn't, and the guilt gnaws at his stomach – but Jean shakes his head.

"I can walk; I'm not so drunk," he says. He takes a step, impressively stable given how he's slurring, then another, and another. He's walking, alright. But it doesn't stop Nino from walking a few centimeters behind him rather than next to him. Just in case he needs to catch Jean. Just in case.

They've stayed out later than usual. The night sky is overcast, adding to the depths of Badon's midnight gloom. Streetlights, cars' headlights, and the remaining open businesses light their way home. Even without them, though, Nino would know where to go. The sidewalks are the city's arteries, but so are they Nino's, after living here so long. He knows where to grab a bite, and where it's a nice place to rest, and where is best to hide from watchful eyes.

Jean stops, turning to Nino. Briefly Nino wonders why, then realizes it's because their paths home split. Jean will go his way, Nino another.

Or so Jean thinks.

The guilt takes a larger chunk out of his stomach.

"Thanks for today," Jean says. He pulls up his coat, emblazoned with ACCA's symbol on the arm.

"Of course."

Jean's smile isn't entirely sober and still Nino treasures it. "Goodnight."

"Right," Nino says distractedly, tugging on his gloves without looking.

Jean either didn't hear it or doesn't care as he walks away with one last wave at him. Nino moves, pretending to go his own way, but out of the corner of his eye he watches for a good amount of distance to grow between him and Jean.

Then he follows.

The shadows are like old friends. Jean finds it funny Nino likes black so much, and Nino lets him have his fun, because there is absolutely no way he's going to tell him it's due to how easily it allows him to blend in the shadow Jean casts.

In and out of the dark he goes, silent as a cat. He's never had an issue with Jean's safety when he walks home inebriated. But that didn't mean it would always be the case.

There is movement in the alley ahead. _I'll be damned_ , Nino thinks, and focuses intently on its location. A flash, now.

_Knife_ , he thinks immediately, eerily calm, just as whoever is in the alley emerges like fog and Nino does too.

The stranger has no time at all to go after Jean. Nino closes the gap between him and the assailant in a few strides, simultaneously twisting their arm with the knife behind their back and clamping their mouth shut. He kicks the back of the stranger's legs, and they crumple, making half-dragging and half-throwing them into the alley that much easier.

The stranger is trying to wriggle free of Nino, but Nino's grip is too strong. With a sharp movement, he breaks the stranger's wrist and feels their scream swallowed up by his gloved hand. The knife clutters harmlessly to the ground. Nino kicks it away.

"I'm going to let my hand go and ask you a question," he says, very quietly, but somewhere in him a storm brews. "If you make any noise, you will regret it. Understood?"

The stranger frantically nods.

"Why were you going to attack that man?" He removes his hand.

The stranger is heaving in breaths. They might be crying. "He... looked like... an easy target... and rich, from his... jacket... I wasn't gonna kill him! I just wanted money!"

A young man's voice, likely no older than twenty. And it doesn't seem like he's lying. "I see." Nino punches the man in the solar plexus, hearing the air go out of him as he falls. Almost leisurely, Nino picks up the knife. He notes the man, curled on the ground, is definitely crying, wheezing in pain. "You shouldn't go around attacking people," Nino says, his voice rumbling thunder. And then it cuts like lightning, flashing too in his eyes. "But you _especially_ shouldn't go after that man."

The stranger says nothing, and Nino cannot see his eyes well in the dark, but his fear is palpable.

He can't let him go free, but he also needs to keep tailing Jean, by now even further. Clicking his tongue, Nino walks back to the stranger and steps on his unbroken arm, perhaps too forcefully, as it draws a cry. He calls the police and reports an attempted mugging.

"Not only did you endanger someone important, you've made me late to something important," he tells the man as he waits for the police. "You're lucky doing anything worse to you would be suspicious."

Out of curiosity, Nino checks his pulse. It beats calmly. He looks at the knife, then the man.

The whites of the man's eyes are wide.

Nino purses his mouth, tossing the knife far from the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in 50 minutes w/ 20 minutes of editing. i went over the 60 minute limit again hhggf
> 
> based off [this](https://twitter.com/jessinbooks/status/1004116474187927552) tweet


	5. jazz and liquor

The night is warm, yet still Jean heavily leans on Nino, arm linked through his, seeping his body heat to Nino. But Nino doesn't mind. It grounds him. Reminds him of what, against all odds, he now has. Their footsteps whisper on the sidewalk.

"I had fun," Jean says, suddenly. "We should go to jazz clubs more."

Nino smiles down at him. "I'm happy to hear that. And I agree."

Jean must feel Nino's eyes on him, as he looks up at him. He doesn't say anything. He just meets Nino's eyes, the alcohol flowing in his veins making his usual stoic expression readable. To Nino's watchful eye, at least. The clear blue of his eyes glitter with so much love it drowns Nino.

"I really liked that last song they played," Jean says, eyes swinging back in front of him.

"Which one was that, again?" Nino asks. Except he knows. He just wants to coax Jean into humming it.

"With the woman and the, um... saxophone."

Nino laughs lightly. "Jean, that was all of them."

"Okay, but in this the woman was proninent- promonent-"

"Prominent?"

"Yeah, that. There was the piano, and the drums."

"Not very helpful. You're describing almost the entirety of jazz."

Jean frowns. "Your memory sucks. It went like this," he says, and does his best to hum the crooning melody, lyrics long forgotten. The buildings surrounding them swallow it up, but because he's leaning on Nino, Nino can hear as well as feel it. Jean is actually quite on the mark, despite his inebriation. Nino listens to his own little concert, traveling through his skin and ears.

Jean's humming fades out, to Nino's private disappointment. "It kind of made me wanna dance," he says.

"Why didn't you ask me to? They had a floor."

Jean burrows his cheek further into Nino's arm. "I would have felt weird, with the other people there." He stops walking, and Nino does too. He straightens, taking Nino's hands in his. "But we can now."

Nino blinks. "Out on the street? That's more in the public eye."

"There's barely anyone around," Jean says, already putting one of Nino's hands on his hip, holding the other out. "Lots of people have danced in clubs." His smile is mischievous. "Who can say they've done the same on the street?"

Nino returns it. Fuck it; they're old and tipsy and stupidly in love. "Alright, to what music?"

"Mine," Jean says, starting the song up again, and without thinking, Nino moves, Jean following. The song is in an odd meter, not fitting to the simple movements they trace down the sidewalk. It makes Nino laugh, in turn Jean, a note in his throat turning to a steady stream of laughter.

"What are we doing?" Nino wonders, not seeking an answer, spinning Jean around.

"Don't you see that we are dancing in the street?" Jean says, to the tune of the song.

"You're making up lyrics to it now?" Nino presses their foreheads together, smiling fondly. "You're quite the talent."

"That's all I've got," Jean admits, lazily wrapping his arms around Nino's neck.

"That's all I need," Nino says, and he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in 48 minutes w/ 9 minutes of editing. inspired by these fanarts: [one](https://twitter.com/klippdass/status/849183748214190081), [two](https://twitter.com/Cc_moon_ACCA/status/1003283730339749890). i had a [real song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNWsr6N72yQ) in mind for this, too


	6. smoke break

The office clock quietly beeps 10:00, and the girls cheer. "Snack time!" They hustle about, setting up their chairs in a circle, getting out the respective sweets each had bought to share with the rest. Knot is still at his desk, but even he's glancing over the top of his computer monitor to see what today's treats are.

Jean is standing up, smiling to himself as he briefly checks his phone. He stretches. "I'm going out for a smoke," he says, patting his pockets to ensure his cigarette case and lighter are on him.

"What!" Atori says. "There's strawberry shortcake, sir!"

Tempting. But not quite as much as what he has planned. "Save me a piece," he says, heading out the door.

It's crisp as an apple outside, the morning autumn sun bright but hardly warm. He fixes his collar, partly to keep the cool out, partly to ensure it's smooth. He doesn't want to look messy.

He passes by headquarters' designated smoking area, giving his fellow smokers a nod of acknowledgment.

"No smoke break today?" one asks.

"It's nice out and I thought I'd take a walk," he answers, in half-truth.

With school in session, and many people currently at work, Badon's urban streets are mostly pleasantly empty. The rare car or pedestrian occasionally passes Jean, and he peers over his shoulder to check that they are not following him. No one is. He certainly feels no eyes on him.

_Almost there_. His heart pumps a little faster from the anticipation. From the clandestinity of it.

The buildings here grow less lithe and glittering and more squat and homey. The brick-and-mortar seems to absorb all sound; it is even quieter here. Mysterious, too, in the way the shadows fall on the streets, the way the alleyways haphazardly cross each other.

Into one of these alleys Jean turns, smoothly rounding the corner.

Nino is already waiting there.

Jean's stomach flips, even still, as he walks up to Nino and laces his hands behind his neck. Nino wraps his arms around Jean's waist, bringing him in closer. Their foreheads touch. "Hey," he says, like they've run into each other on the street, not planned a furtive meeting when they were supposed to be working. Again.

"Hi," Jean says. "Sorry I kept you waiting."

Nino's laugh is quiet and breathy, sending a familiar tingle down Jean's spine. "I would wait a century for you."

Jean smiles. "That would mean one hundred less years with you." He unwraps his hands to rest them on Nino's chest. "I don't want that."

"Me, either," Nino says, close enough his words brush Jean's lips, and then he's kissing him, and Jean is kissing back, as though they already have gone a century without seeing each other.

It is Nino who pulls back. Only minutely. His shallow breathing tickles Jean, who keeps his eyes closed, using his other senses to revel in Nino. There is the fuzzy softness of his sweater, and the shape of his muscles beneath them. There is the fresh scent of his hair. There is the smooth, sweet way he tastes lingering on Jean's tongue. "What excuse did you use today?" Nino asks. His low voice is tinged with amusement.

Jean opens his eyes. Nino's mouth is quirked up. "Smoke break."

"Ah, the usual."

"It's believable." Jean hesitantly steps back, taking out his lighter and a cigarette. "Now I need to make it so."

"Is there enough time?"

Jean leans against one of the buildings hiding them. He lights his cigarette and deeply inhales. He lets go of the smoke in a neat cloud, a spot of white in the dark of the alley. "Probably not. But I don't need to finish it. I just need to smell like tobacco."

"Well," Nino says, laying a hand next to Jean, leaning in with a smirk, "that shouldn't be so difficult."

Jean points the burning end of his cigarette away from Nino as he rests his hand on his shoulder. "I suppose not," smirking himself, welcoming another hungry kiss.

He lets his cigarette burn to ashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in 52 minutes w/ 8 minutes of editing. based off [this](https://twitter.com/mtduck_jil/status/959824583388889088) fanart


	7. names

The bag of popcorn isn't even halfway finished when Nino pauses the movie to announce, "I need water."

Jean reaches into the bag and grabs a handful of kernels. "I did think it was surprising you didn't get any." He pops a few kernels into his mouth. "These things are more buttery than I remember."

"That," Nino says, "is because I bought the wrong kind."

Jean eyes him flatly. "You're not allowed to make fun of me for forgetting something when grocery shopping, next time it happens."

"Fair," Nino says, smiling. "Anyway, I'm going to get water now. You want some, too?"

"Yes, please."

Stretched as they are on the sofa, Jean has to sit up and scoot away so Nino can get up.

"Here." Nino returns with two glasses, setting them on the low table in front of the sofa.

"Thanks," Jean says, grabbing the one closest to him, sipping carefully as the cushion dips where Nino's just sat down.

"No problem."

Jean puts the glass down, lips pursed. _Didn't that feel a little empty?_ he thinks.

"What's wrong?" Nino asks, noticing his expression.

He opens his mouth to speak before he actually knows what he's going to say. He closes it, trying to make sense of his apprehension, and then it suddenly comes to him. "What should I call you?"

"My name?" Nino says slowly.

"Well- yes," Jean says, somewhat embarrassed he didn't word himself right. "I mean like... a term of endearment."

Nino is amused. "What's brought that worry on?"

"It's been three months since we started dating, but we only ever use our names when addressing each other." Jean lets himself fall lightly on Nino's shoulder. "Maybe we should also use terms of endearment."

"If you want," Nino says, "buttercup."

Jean splutters into muffled laughter.

"What?"

"'Buttercup'?"

"It was the first thing to pop into my head. Because of the popcorn." Nino's fingers course through Jean's hair. "So I guess my valiant first attempt gets a 'no.'"

"It's a no."

"Okay, how about 'sunshine'? For your hair."

"You're not very good at this," Jean says, although the tips of his ears are warm. "What would I call you, 'blueberry'?"

It's Nino's turn to laugh. "You think of something, then."

"'Babe'," Jean mumbles, eyes cast away from Nino.

"What was that?"

"'Babe'," Jean repeats, a little too loudly, turning to look at Nino, hoping his cheeks aren't as pink as they feel.

Nino blinks rapidly, taken aback. Then his lips curl into a wry smile. "How forward of you, babe."

Jean makes a small noise and covers his face with his hands. "Never mind."

"You sure?" Nino pulls him close, resting his chin on Jean's shoulder. "I like it. You obviously do, too. You're blushing."

 _Damn it_. "That's why. I don't want to blush every time you say something to me."

"That's a shame; it's cute."

"Hmm," Jean says, leaning back against Nino, who accommodates him.

"Terms of endearment," Nino says, thinking out loud. "Oh. 'Dear'?"

"Save it for when we're wrinkly."

"I was about to suggest 'darling' but it's two hundred years too late for that."

Jean chuckles.

"I'm realizing a lot of these are food-related," Nino says. "There's 'honey,' 'sugar,' 'sweetie.'"

"Sweet things are good things."

"Yeah, but I dunno that I'd want to be called that." He sighs. "I can't think of anything else."

"Me either," Jean admits.

"I like your name," Nino says, hands covering Jean's own. "And I like saying it. I don't get tired of it. To me, it carries all the weight these nicknames do for other couples."

"I don't get tired of it, either." Jean looks up at him. "Can I hear you say my name?"

"Only every day, Jean."

Nino's voice is low and lovely on its own, but when his lips let go of Jean's name, it makes his heart flutter. "Thank you, Nino." He smiles softly at him. "I like saying your name, too. It's smooth and kind of sing-songy."

Nino kisses his cheek. "I'm very happy to hear that."

"I guess we don't need any other name for each other. What we have is nice."

"I agree." His mouth travels to the crook where neck curves to shoulder. "But I think I'll slip a 'babe' in there every now and then."

"Please play the movie," Jean says, knowing this is a weak change of the conversation, but a blush is starting to creep on him again.

Nino reaches across the table for the remote, other arm loose around Jean. "You got it, babe."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I CHEATED i wrote this last year for myself, but i was always fond of it so i'm sharing. and considering how turtle-slow i am in writing it totally took over an hour


	8. desert

The plane bumps as it touches ground and glides dizzyingly fast, the sands and shrubs outside the airport's borders a yellow-green blur. It comes to a gradual stop, the desert scenery settling. So different from Badon's urban coast. It's not Jean's first time here, but it is his first time in a while. Despite the sun at its apex, and the comfortable temperature inside the plane, Jean shivers. The pilot announces their safe arrival to Furawau. People begin to shuffle for their carry-ons.

Nino, beside Jean, leans in close to his ear. "You ready?" he asks.

Ready for disembarkation or ready to face this former district again? Jean shrugs, a non-answer.

Nino gives him a small, slightly sad smile, but does not push him for a verbal reply.

They get a cab from the airport to their hotel. The district looks the same as Jean remembers: people smiling, shallowly; lithe glass skyscrapers stark against the sands beyond; the dry air a pleasant mix of flowers potted everywhere.

Furawau's beauty is certain.

Its politics are another matter.

They have not rejoined Dowa, and relations remain neutral. Passage is allowed between the mainland and Furawau, although it is strictly monitored. Both of them immediately stand out as outsiders. No one looks at them as if offended, but they are curious. Why would outsiders want to come to Furawau?

Jean crosses his arms, pressing back against the plush cab seat.

Their hotel is in a different part of the city than where Jean was in his last audit of Furawau, before its independence. It is not familiar to him, and it makes him uncomfortable. More than he already was. When they get out of the cab to check in at the hotel, when they walk in its quiet hallways, when they walk back out to the streets for lunch, Jean's eyes discreetly survey his surroundings. Left and right, ahead and behind. Repeat.

Nino puts a hand on his shoulder. "Jean," he says, not unkindly, "it's okay. We're okay."

Jean's mouth curls downward. So much for discretion. Then again, this is Nino. Were something off, he would know, instincts honed by a lifetime of lurking in the shadows.

He had seen the gunmen when he hadn't, after all.

Jean's stomach tightens.

He doesn't talk much, or eat much, during lunch. He'd like to chat with Nino, as always, but he cannot relax. Still, he can't.

Nino is patient. As always. He makes no show of the silence bothering him. Instead, one way or another, he is in contact with Jean at all times, if lightly: a finger curled with his, or a foot nudging his. _I'm here_ , he says with no words.

_I know_ , Jean silently replies, hoping the look he gives Nino conveys it.

Nino smiles and squeezes his hand.

Night comes quickly, and with it, what Nino is here for. They rent a sandrail and Nino drives them out to the edge of the city, where civilization dwindles before the great expanse of the desert. More stars twinkle here than in Badon, and in the sky's brilliance, looking almost painted-on, Jean feels small. From here, each star is no bigger than his thumbnail. He can cover them up if he closes an eye and holds his thumb up. In reality, each of those white dots, at a distance he cannot possibly comprehend, would burn him to nothing.

He tugs the blanket around him tighter. The desert is cold at night. Part of him knew this, perhaps learned offhandedly in elementary. Experiencing it is different.

_Was it cold last time, too?_ he wonders, drawing his knees in closer. He can't remember that, only two bangs, the shout of his name, a body, _Nino_ , blood-

Nino joins him, sitting next to him on the blanket, bumping him on purpose. "I think I'm done photographing," he says. "Would you like to see?"

"Why?" Jean asks, voice sounding a little distant. "Anything you might have photographed, I can see with my own eyes because I'm here, too."

Nino laughs lightly. "That's true."

Jean frowns, reflecting on what he said. "Sorry, that sounded rude."

"It's fine." Nino pulls Jean in. "I know you're on edge." Jean sinks in along with Nino's stomach as Nino soundlessly sighs. "I'm pretty sure I know why, because I have known you for a very long time. But I don't want to assume anything anymore. This isn't healthy for either of us." He looks down at Jean. "Can you be honest and tell me... everything?"

He doesn't need to specify what 'everything' means. Jean knows. He'd suspected this is why Nino had brought him along to this photography trip.

They are due for this talk.

It spills out of Jean through the cracks he'd hastily mended. "I don't like that you jumped in front of a gun to save me," he starts, "as if you were... expendable. It might have saved my life, but what if it had cost you yours?" Already, a lump in the back of his throat. "Do you think I would have been alright living because you sacrificed yourself? I know it all worked out in the end – we both lived – but the _what if_ s bother me. That you thought so little of yourself bothers me. But what bothers me the most is that you did it not only because I'm a prince you were bound to save, but because you love me, and that instead of being grateful you're selfless I'm-" He swallows the lump down with some difficulty. "-angry. At you. Mostly at myself, though, for being indecisive about this. And for not letting go."

Nino waits a moment before asking, "Is that all?"

"Yes," Jean says, rubbing at his eye. "I feel better getting it off my chest."

Nino chastely kisses his cheek. "Thank you for telling me. It was like I thought."

"Because you know me so well."

"I do." Nino sighs again. "I understand how you feel. If our roles were reversed, my thoughts would be the same. But they're not. All I can do is acknowledge how you feel, because I cannot apologize for what I did. I would do it again if need be."

"I know that, too." Jean looks up at him. "Which is why I accept what you did, even if I don't like it that much. It happened and that's that." He traces a meaningless shape in the sand. "I'm still not completely fine with it. I don't know if I'll get there, but I'll try."

Nino's hand on top of his, warm. 

Jean twines their fingers. "Let's have really mundane lives from here on out, okay?"

Nino smiles at him. "So mundane you might cry."

Jean returns it. "Not if you're there."

A breeze picks up grains of sand and bits of debris, depositing them far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in 53 minutes w/ 9 minutes of editing. i went over 60 minutes again ):


	9. candles

The ice cream shop's bell jingles as Nino pulls open the door. The employee behind the counter, dressed in candy-like red-and-white stripes matching the shop's sweetly colorful interior, cheerily greets him. Nino nods amicably in her direction, eyes searching for-

Jean waves at him from a booth tucked away in a corner. Little Lotta pokes her head up over the seat and mimics her brother.

Nino smiles and heads toward them.

Lotta hops off her seat and clutches Nino's leg. "It's Nino! Happy birthday, Nino!"

"Thank you, Lotta," Nino says, patting her head. "Can you let me sit, though?"

She hugs him tighter. "No!"

"Lotta, don't be like that," Jean says, sternly but kindly. He stands up and picks her up, though she complains, and sits her beside him. "Sorry about that, Nino," he tells him as Nino slides into the seat across from them. "I didn't want to leave her alone at home."

Nino briefly purses his lips. This is the first year either of them have celebrated their birthdays without their parents. Not that Jean knows his situation is the same. He'd been there for Jean's birthday three months earlier, for their small but cozy party of three. Now Jean unwittingly returns the favor.

He gives them the nicest smile he can muster. "It's okay. It wouldn't be the same without the little princess here."

Jean smiles back; Lotta giggles. It has taken time for them to get used to smiling again, but it has happened. That's the best present Nino could have asked for.

"Lotta beat me to it, but happy birthday," Jean says, handing Nino a small giftwrapped box. "It's not much, but I hope you like it."

"Jean, you didn't have to," Nino says, and actually means it. They should not be spending money on him. Their parents' will had left them money behind, enough to live for a while until Jean started working. And of course the King found subtle ways to make sure his grandchildren wanted for nothing. But the money was for _them_ , alone in a world more intricate than they realized. It should not be used for someone as unimportant as Nino.

They do, anyway.

"Don't be like that." Jean places the box in his hands. "Here."

Nino's fingers tighten around it. "Thank you."

"Open it, open it!" Lotta says.

"Let's have ice cream first," Nino suggests, and being the one turning eighteen (falsely, for the second time), cannot be refused. "It's why we chose this place, after all."

Their choices are unsurprising: double chocolate for himself, strawberry for Jean. Lotta chooses birthday cake flavor and makes Nino take a bite of it first.

Outside the window, the summer sun shines on Badon. It had meant months of freedom, once. But having graduated high school, at least physically rather than the homeschooling he'd received a decade ago, it meant the fright of university was next. Jean was headed for ACCA's school and wasn't worried about this grand new stage in life. _Typical_ , Nino thinks with a smile. It was _him_ with the nerves. Being Jean's shadow would prove more difficult now. He's still not sure how he will be able to stay close to him without it being obvious he must.

His metal spoon clinks against the ice cream glass.

 _I'll figure it out later_ , he thinks, deciding that for now, this is enough. 

* * *

"Tonight's on me," Jean says, putting Nino's beer in front of him. He sits down, holding up his own glass. "Happy birthday, Nino."

Nino toasts him with a smile.

Neither of them have ever been particularly social. Into adulthood, it remains the same. They have chosen a quiet time out at a bar this year. They sit outside, the day's heat rising to the star-speckled sky, the cool of night flowing in.

"Two more years til you hit the big three-oh," Jean says, smirking.

"Oh, so not you?" Nino takes a drink. Having to hide his decade of seniority on Jean isn't troublesome, as their ages never really come up in their daily lives. Except on their birthdays. It gets a little harder to be all smiles, then. Growing older, he can't help but realize he will take this secret – and the one that arrhythmically beats against his rib cage when he sees Jean – to the grave. Rather than feeling celebratory, his birthday tends to sober him.

"Well, yeah, I'll also be thirty, and before you," Jean says, "but let me make fun of you."

Nino, despite himself, laughs. "Some friend you are."

"That's exactly it." Jean drinks. "You wouldn't let anyone else get away with what I do."

Nino looks down at the dark amber of his beer. _I really wouldn't._

"I got you something," Jean says suddenly, reaching for something in the paper bag by his feet. He pulls out a small box with a pretty bakery logo on the top. "It's a chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting, plus it has chocolate chips."

"My next dentist visit is on you, too," Nino jokes. He opens the box. The cupcake looks straight out of a food magazine. Nino glances at the logo again. "Wait, this is from that expensive bakery-"

"Off 7th and Greenway, yeah. I always heard great things about them."

"Jean..."

Jean frowns at him. "Nino, come on. We've been friends for years, but you do this every time. Do you think I still talk to you out of obligation or something?"

Nino takes a sharp breath in; his hands involuntarily jerk.

Jean doesn't notice. "I give you things because I want to. I mean, you're always going above and beyond for me. You should know our friendship isn't a one-way street." He crosses his arms, looking stubbornly to the side. "Let me give back to my best friend, too."

 _He means it_ , Nino thinks, swallowing thickly. Would he be saying the same if he knew the truth?

"Right," he says, hoping his voice sounds normal. "Thank you, Jean."

Jean turns back to him, expression softening. "You're very welcome, Nino."

Being around Jean in general makes Nino's thoughts a mess. Being with him on his _birthday_ is a special kind of torture. _I'm not who you think I am_ , he wants to say. _Our friendship is built on lies. So is my entire existence. I don't deserve you. You should hate me. I love you so, so much._

Nino splits the cupcake in half to share with Jean to silence his thoughts.

"But I got it for you," Jean says, grudgingly accepting it, the spot where their hands brush tingling on Nino's skin.

"Yes, and as the person who got it, I can then choose what I do with it. I choose to do this." _Among other things_ , Nino adds mentally.

The corner of Jean's mouth quirks up. "Thanks. You're you regardless, huh?"

Nino takes a bite out of the cupcake, hoping Jean reads his smile as humble acceptance, and not for the sardonic ache he feels. 

* * *

"Hurry, Lotta," Jean says. "My back hurts."

"Sorry, sorry! Almost there!"

Nino, sitting down at the dining room table, hears sounds from the kitchen. He can't see what is happening because Jean, standing behind him, is leaning over to cover his eyes. He's been like this for a while and has gotten tired. He's wrapped his arms around Nino's neck to rest them while keeping Nino from seeing anything.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Jean says.

"It's fine." Nino doesn't mind. Obviously. He leans back against Jean, who presses a kiss to the back of his head.

"She just wants this perfect."

"And what, you don't?"

Jean lightly flicks his head.

 _I can't believe_ _we're like this now_ , Nino thinks, not for the first time. It makes him lightheaded. Of all the paths life could have taken them after all the truths burst forth like water breaking from a dam, it chose the best path. The one Nino had secretly wanted, but the one he knew was as untouchable as a dream. It was -  _is -_ real.

Something quietly clinks, and Jean removes his hands. 

"Happy birthday, Nino," he says.

"We made it ourselves!" Lotta, walking to Nino's left, says.

"We'd done a trial run before, and it turned out very good," Jean says, tracing Nino's arm as he moves to his right. His hand rests on top of Nino's, warm everywhere but around the band on his ring finger.

In front of him is a chocolate cheesecake drizzled with chocolate sauce, and a delicately written cursive message in the same sauce spirals around the plate's border, reading _We love you, Nino!_ , complete with a trail of hearts. On the cake, the tiny flames on candles styled as the numbers _4_ and _5_ flicker. His actual age. They were long through with the secrets, but this birthday marked a particular milestone: he's been Jean's friend almost twenty years, and his husband almost for two. The true anniversary of their first meeting is in September, and their wedding anniversary in November, but getting ahead won't harm anyone.

Really, he probably deserves it.

"This is amazing," Nino says, smiling at both of them. "Thank you."

"Anything for you," Jean says, and Nino's heart is soaring.

For years, that had been Nino's reason for living, as mandated in a secluded palace room, its future implications lost to a seven-year-old boy. The duty had followed him into the bustling metropolis the princess had settled in, and then into the rich diversity of the districts her son visited in his audits. Somewhere along the way, Nino had found that even if Jean had been as low-born as him, by his side he would still be, privately promising to love itself that Jean would be his purpose. And, somewhere along the way, he'd found Jean had quietly done the same. At an altar, forged in gold, the vows became real. Tangibly requited. Nino was not alone and never had been.

"Make a wish!" Lotta says, pushing the cake closer to him, breaking him from his reverie.

Nino is not at the age where he should be making birthday wishes. But right before he blows out the candles with their light glittering off his wedding ring, he thinks, _Let us always stay this way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took waaaay over 60 minutes; i stopped bothering to time myself lol but i don't care this time.... a most happiest bday to my mans nino, the hottest anime bastard i ever did see


	10. drunk

The bottle of wine falls from Nino's hand. As it spins, it makes a sound almost like a song, a deep glass crescendo and decrescendo. _Pretty_ , Nino thinks. Though brief, it loudly fills his ears as if he were inside of that bottle, feeling the vibrations through his body. He laughs, low. To be thinking this, he must be pretty damn drunk.

Unlike Jean, who when drunk rambles and pouts and then falls asleep, alcohol heightens Nino's senses. There was that sound the bottle made. There is also the soft fabric of the sofa; he can feel the individual fibers beneath his fingers, woven to make the shape that holds him up when he can't himself. There is the taste of the wine heavily lingering on his tongue, fermented red grape and oak and berries. He can smell it on himself, too, so that it seems like he's still drinking it. There is what he sees: himself, as if incorporeally viewing his body from above, spilled on the sofa like the last drops of wine the bottle scattered on the floor, with his face harshly set in the blue-white light of his phone held in front of his face. A sorry, pathetic sight.

He has been staring at his contacts page for a bit. It's moderately long, but it is not filled with friends. These are mostly people he has worked with or currently works for. Lotta and Jean are the only ones who do not fit that. And it is Jean's number that Nino's eyes are glued unblinkingly to.

He cannot see this as it does not exist in front of him. But he does see it in his mind, because he has mentally played this over and over again, and it seems as real as the crushing emptiness of his apartment.

What he sees: himself, calling that number. Jean picks up, surprised but amused. He'd ask what Nino's doing calling him so late. Then a tinge of worry, asking if everything was alright, because why else would Nino want to speak to him at one in the morning? And all the time Nino's heart would be beating wildly enough to inch ever closer to his mouth, eventually reaching it, and falling out, along with all the secrets that had been kept away within it. _Jean_ , Nino would say, tasting the name. He really likes Jean's name. So pretty. One syllable, tongue starting at the roof of his mouth, ending with the tip of it meeting the back of his teeth. _Jean, did you know? Did you know I had to be your friend? You're a prince, Jean._ _My prince._ _And did you know I love you? That wasn't an order. It just happened. It was probably supposed to. I see you daily, you're right next to me, and I can't reach you. I can't_ _._ _But I want to. Jean, I love you._

From there, the fantasy changes. Sometimes Jean doesn't reply, but he still breathes quietly on the line, and Nino is left pleading to the static that he didn't mean it, he's drunk, don't mind it, goodnight. Sometimes Jean does reply, and he says _I see_ , politely, like Nino is some stranger who has spewed out lies. Sometimes, he says _I figured_ instead, and while Jean will know the truth, nothing will change between them. And sometimes, Jean laughs, lightly, prettily, like glass twinkling as it spins in a circle on a lonely lovestruck man's apartment floor, and he says _I love you too_. Those are the best endings. But they do not come often to Nino's mind. Because it isn't feasible. It's not going to happen. Dreams are for sleep.

So he stares at the phone. At Jean's pixelated, digital form. His thumb hovers over it, daring Nino to press it, as if this is really Jean and he's still scared to touch him despite how badly he wants to.

He stares and stares.

He tosses the phone aside. It lands on the table. The case has likely broken. It doesn't matter. It is expendable.

Nino curls up on the sofa, willing sleep to come, the obedient part of him pushing its way through the intoxicated haze, reminding him of his role in Jean's life, putting him back in line. Like it does every time he stares and stares.

The secret is kept. The lie maintained. Tomorrow, he'll be back by Jean. If at a distance. If he has to drag himself there, pretending he's alright. But he'll be by him. That is all he can have. It is not enough, but he'll have it. Better than nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in 35 minutes w/ 7 minutes of editing
> 
> this was inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM) song which was in a ninojean 8tracks mix. whoever did it.... i owe u my life..... all the songs were good but this one is Particularly nino-pining-for-jean and it kills me


	11. saturday morning

Drinking with Jean when Nino was only pining for him had been painful. He had to hear him gush about women and pretend Jean's compliments, given with an embarrassed pink face, didn't clench his jaw, didn't make his stomach drop, didn't send aching and jealousy to his heart. Drink after drink, he had a facade to maintain through it all, always.

Then they had started dating, that far-away dream somehow realized, and Nino didn't have to hold himself back anymore. Jean's slurred whispers in his ear, or his hand inching to his thigh, or even just the half-lidded longing looks he gave him: they all had meaning now. No second guesses, no private panic. Jean was really flirting. So Nino, head-over-heels, flirted back, as if they didn't each know they were going home together later. And he loved every moment of it.

But drinking with Jean now that they are married is the best time of all. Whenever someone comes up to either of them with a smile and a glass and a wink, Jean puts up his left hand palm out, gold ring dull in the typical bar's low lights, and says in a voice he _claim_ _s_ isn't smug that they are married. If he is _really_ drunk, he'll even wiggle his fingers, making the light glitter prettily off the ring, as prettily as it did when Nino had first slid it on Jean's hand. Their relationship is for good, and for all the world to see. He doesn't tease Jean too much about his lack of modesty when someone hits on him because he feels smug himself, knowing Jean is untouchable to everyone else. He'd loved him for so long, and now it is real.

What hasn't changed for them is Jean's inability to handle his liquor and that Nino is his designated carrier. When Jean can still walk, Nino instead offers him his arm for support. Sometimes. Because even when he can walk, Jean prefers it when Nino carries him. Such as now.

"You are so lazy," Nino says, shifting his hold on the back of Jean's thighs.

Jean leans in close to his ear, tickling it with his lips as he says, "You don't mean that."

It's true, he doesn't. He laughs, caught.

"You're getting a workout on your back," Jean continues. "This is a favor."

"You're a fitness expert now?"

Jean doesn't reply. Nino glances back and sees he's fallen asleep. He smiles and walks the rest of the way home in silence. Once there, he repeats the routine common to these post-drinking nights in making sure Jean is comfortable in bed ( _their_ bed; it still overwhelms Nino) before he takes his place by him. He steals a look at Jean, lovely in the moonlight filtering in through the blinds, and is hit by another wave of wonder that this is them, now. Living together. _Married_.

He goes to sleep with a fluttery heart.

The next morning, he wakes up to find Jean's side of the bed empty. That is unusual; Nino almost always wakes up before him. Especially after nights spent out drinking.

He goes to the kitchen. Lotta is also up, busying herself with making a breakfast that smells delicious. Jean is lounging on the sofa, watching television.

"Good morning!" Lotta chirps, spotting Nino first.

Jean turns around and gives him a smile.

"Morning," Nino says, sitting next to Jean. He looks back to Lotta. "Something smells great."

"I'm making custard bread pudding!"

"Doesn't that take long to bake?"

"Yes, so if you don't wanna wait, that's okay. Help yourself to anything!"

"Is the smell of this what woke you up?" Nino asks Jean, who's getting up and heading to the kitchen.

"It is. I was going to wait, but I'm hungry now."

"Lazy _and_ impatient," Nino says with a smirk.

"Just impatient."

Nino chuckles, turning back to the television. He hears shuffling sounds in the kitchen. A pause. Something wet poured. A pause. Something shaking in a box.

Then, "Jean, what are you _actually_ doing?!"

Raising an eyebrow, Nino turns his attention back to the kitchen.

"Getting cereal?" Jean says.

"You poured the _milk_ first!"

Nino's eye twitches.

Jean shrugs. "It was closer to me because you hadn't put it away yet. I don't see why it's such a big deal."

Lotta wheels around to Nino. "Nino, you didn't see, but did you _hear_ that?! Did you hear what your husband just said?"

"I did," Nino says, slowly, feeling something like discomfort for the first time in all the years he's known Jean.

"You don't care, do you, Nino?" Jean asks. "The end result is the same either way. Cereal with milk. Why does the cereal have to go first?"

"Because milk first means you spill milk in pouring the cereal over it! See, you made a small mess!" Lotta chimes in. "And because you can't possibly know how much milk you need at first! You adjust it to the cereal."

"I've had a lot of cereal bowls in my life, Lotta. I can eyeball the milk I need."

"Ugh. It's just wrong!"

"It doesn't matter. Nino, back me up."

Nino buries his face in his hands.

"Nino. Nino, come on."

"Jean," he says, uneasily, "I honestly can't."

"You guys are weak," Jean says, and munches his breakfast.

"No, you're weird!" Lotta says.

"Have you always done that?" Nino asks, flipping through his memories with Jean, trying to see if he'd seen this before and promptly – understandably – blocked it out.

"Just when the milk is more conveniently within my reach. It's usually not. Like I said, though, I don't care what goes on first. I'll eat it anyway."

"Nino, let's get a mini-fridge and put it on top of the normal fridge, so that only you can reach it," Lotta says. "And we'll put the milk there so that when Jean wants it, he needs to ask you to get it," Lotta says.

He laughs. "Good plan."

Jean good-naturedly rolls his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in 68 minutes w/ 15 of editing. went over again.. ugh
> 
> anyway 2x weekly update bc i really wanted to do this, which is based off [a friend's hc and consequent convo](https://imgur.com/xE9w5DN) that's too good to keep to myself


	12. flirt

Lotta likes having Nino over. He is part of their little family: herself, her brother, and...

She watches Nino and Jean in the kitchen. _And the person who should be my brother's boyfriend_ , she thinks.

The two of them think they are being subtle with their flirting. They are, in fact, very much not. If they were together, it would make so much sense. They should be.

But they are not dating. They just... flirt all the time.

It was cute at first. It was evident they each cared deeply about the other. Over time, Lotta realized the love ran deeper and redder than she'd thought. To see the two people who meant the most to her develop feelings for each other dance around the tenuous line separating friendship from romance was exhilarating. Movie-like. After the realization came the confession, and that would change the two of them, but it would be so expected it would hardly feel like a change.

Except they haven't been up front about it. They still prod at the line, with more confidence, maybe, but they continue to only be friends.

So it annoys Lotta now. She hasn't said anything because this isn't something she should meddle in; this is something Nino and Jean have to realize themselves. At least so she has told herself. Her determination wavers every time Nino is over, exchanging _those_ glances with Jean, quipping _ridiculous_ things back and forth just so the other laughs, finding the _smallest_ reasons to touch each other.

Laughter – both of theirs – brings her attention back. She doesn't know who's said the so-stupid-it's-funny thing, but Jean's hand is lightly curled on Nino's wrist. They were supposed to be cooking back there. The food took twice as long to make when the two of them decided to team up because of things like that. She's expected it, though, and had a snack earlier, being unwilling to wait too long for food she could easily make herself. Another annoyance.

"Ugh," she groans, resting her head on her arms, folded on the dining room table. _They're adults_ , she reminds herself. _They can figure out they are head-over-heels for each other on their own._

She hears a yelp, and looks up to see a floury handprint on Jean's cheek. He's mock-scowling, trying to retaliate against Nino, who keeps turning this way and that, laughing, avoiding the dab of butter Jean's put on his finger.

Her mouth twitches, unsure whether to turn into a fond smile or to open in a frustrated shriek. _Can_ they really do this on their own?

"Hey!" comes Nino's voice, still light with laughter. It seems Jean was able to swipe the butter on him.

"That's what you get, jerk," Jean replies, grinning.

"'Jerk'?" Nino feigns hurt. "For being so kind as to check if you really had something in your eye?"

"Your hand was full of flour. You did that on purpose."

"Oh, I'm not denying that." Here, Nino skillfully avoids a playful flick in the arm from Jean. "But I still checked, didn't I? And what did I say I found?" He steps back into Jean's space, the only person besides Lotta who Jean allows to do so. He tips his head ever slightly down. "I'm pretty sure I said I found nothing but the prettiest blue eyes there are on anyone. Yet you still call me a jerk."

"I should also call you a liar," Jean says, putting his clean hand on Nino's chest, standing on the tips of his toes so he's even with Nino's height, and Lotta sits up straight because are they _finally_ going to kiss?

"How so?" Nino asks, his sappy smile matching Jean's.

"Because _your_ eyes are the prettiest blue eyes there are on anyone."

Lotta has to bite her tongue to keep that shriek in check.

"Well, one of us has to be lying, and it's not me," Nino says.

"I'm not, either."

 _You're both telling your own mushy truths! Please date already!_ Lotta thinks, loudly enough surely they must have heard her.

They don't.

Instead of closing that absurdly small distance between them, instead of Nino pulling in Jean for that movie-like kiss, they jump and part a couple of steps back from each other when the timer rings.

Nino clears his throat. "Guess the cake's ready."

Jean runs a hand through his hair, the one that had butter in it. "Yeah."

Nino notices. "Jean, you've just put butter in your hair."

"Oh."

"I'll get you a napkin."

"But the cake-"

"I'll get it!" Lotta announces, hoping that if she leaves them alone, maybe they'll finally do something.

"Thanks, Lotta."

She dons oven mitts and gets the cake from the oven, carefully removing it from the cast so it can cool. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees what Jean and Nino are doing.

Nino cleans Jean's hair with the napkin, muttering halfhearted scolds about being more cognizant of what he's doing. Jean leans into Nino's touch, trying not to look like he's enjoying it. Then Nino is done, patting Jean's shoulder to let him know.

"We can decorate it, too," Jean says, referring to the cake.

"I'll do it!" Lotta says, maybe too quickly. "You two have worked enough. For the mean time, you can just, uh, sit?" _And just say 'I love you' to each other?_

The two of them exchange looks, reaching a mutual agreement silently.

"Okay," Nino says. "If you don't mind."

 _That's not what bugs me!_ she thinks.

They sit on the sofa – on the smaller one, of _course_ – and turn on the television. They don't even bother to watch it; their eyes and ears are just for each other. They have their hands next to each other, and where they share space, their little fingers are touching.

"Seriously, you guys?!"

They turn to look at her.

Lotta squeaks. _I said that out loud._

"Seriously what?" Jean asks, confused.

"Nothing!" she says, running to the fridge to get the frosting. The cool of its insides soothes the warmth on her cheeks. When she turns back around, they've moved on from their curiosity on her outburst, and are back to their own lovestruck little world.

Lotta sighs. _They'll get there_ , she tells herself, opening the frosting's lid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in 50 minutes and 10 minutes of editing.
> 
> can u imagine being lotta and having to witness these gay disasters daily


	13. come on, on a journey

"Good morning," Jean says, walking into the office.

A cheery 'good morning' echoes back as he heads for his desk, as inconspicuously as he can. Then there's a pause. And then, the inevitable.

"Sir, why do you have a backpack?" Mozu asks.

Well. He'd tried to act normal, but keeping a bulky and lumpy thing like that out of view was difficult. Especially when his subordinates are as eager for anything out of the ordinary as birds are for feed.

Jean sighs, setting his briefcase on his desk and the backpack on the floor, in the space beneath his desk. "I'm going somewhere after work," he says, hoping it suffices.

It doesn't.

Atori slides over in her chair. "Oh, where?! At this time of year, I hear Dowa's lovely! All the snow makes it look like something out of a fairytale!"

"The backpack didn't look like it had enough things for a trip all the way to Dowa, where it's colder than here," Keri says. "I bet it's a trip close by!"

"It is," Jean says, and before he is goaded into revealing anything else, he tells them in a slightly louder voice he hopes today is a productive day. That gets the point across, and the girls return to their desks, seeming defeated that they didn't learn more.

Jean turns his eyes down to the backpack, giving it a small and wry smile, a smile between friends. When he'd been packing, he'd briefly considered leaving it at home, then swinging by after work to pick it up; that way, nosy questions wouldn't be peppered his way. But that meant less free time. So he'd sacrificed a normal day at work for the convenience. At least he'd quashed the gossip immediately. Probably.

 _I'm sure I'll hear lots of weird rumors when I'm back_ , he thinks, smile changing to a smirk. Weird rumors are no strangers to him, even now, with the smoke of the coup long smothered. Though what clings to him now isn't political. It won't break the nation's peace, rather that of his own quiet life.

Let them talk. He isn't going to.

The semblance of his usual work returns. Snack time is precisely at ten. He's offered a cupcake and turns it down, to everyone's surprise.

"Really, what _are_ you doing later?" Knot asks. If Knot is participating in speculation, then they must be very bothered by the secrecy.

Jean smiles, enigmatically, having learned from the best at such expressions. "I'm taking a brief smoke break," he says, excusing himself to go outside.

It's cold, and no other smoker is here, preferring to have their fix inside the warmth of the cozy cafe. Jean wants to be alone. Besides, he doesn't mind the feathery touch of the wintry air. It's refreshing in its own way.

He lights a cigarette, the smoke blending in the gray-and-white of Badon in December, the flame like a single point of hope in the colorless silence. With his other hand, he digs his phone from his coat pocket, and reads the messages for what must be the fourth time:

_Next week Lotta is going to visit the King for a few days._

 

_So you're staying behind?_

 

_Yes. Let's go do something._

 

_Anything you want._

 

_I'll ask for three days off work and we can go around Badon. You can pick me up on your bike on my last day and we'll leave right way. No plans. Just you and me, here._

 

_Here? You sure? We could go anywhere, you know._

 

_I know, but here is home._

 

_Then you got it._

An entirely typed conversation, and still Jean could see Nino's smile with that last text. Not the enigmatic and aching smile of days past, nor the polite smile reserved for strangers. The everything-is-okay-now, you-make-me-so-happy smile that Jean and only Jean gets. The exact kind of smile Jean is giving his phone as if it's really Nino.

A few hours more and he'll be there.

The ash on Jean's cigarette has accumulated and falls off from its own weight. He puts the cigarette out on the sole of his shoe, tossing the dead thing in the trash. He hadn't wanted to smoke much; it had been an excuse for privacy. The warmth and rush of dopamine a cigarette could provide had been burning in Jean since early morning.

Back at the office, work resumes. He tries not to glance at the clock too often, telling himself time will tick by regardless of his eyes on its digital numbers. He does, anyway.

"You'd think he's got a date," Mozu whispers to Atori, although not that quietly.

 _Because I do_ , he thinks, pursing his lips to keep a smile off.

At four on the dot, he stands and gathers his things quicker than usual. "I'm going to be gone for three days," he tells them, walking toward the door with his briefcase in hand and his backpack on. "Keep things running as smoothly as always."

"You're telling us _now_?!" Atori cries.

"Where are you going?" Keri asks.

"Somewhere good," he answer with a curl to his mouth.

It remains chilly out, despite it being afternoon. The sun, a hazy white disk among an even whiter, endlessly cloudy sky, does little to nothing to warm the city. Jean doesn't need it. He has Nino, lounging against his motorcycle, looking almost boredly about until he sees Jean.

"Long day?" is the first thing Nino asks him.

A kiss is the first thing Jean replies with, right on Nino's lips, made cold by the weather, made comfortable by a year of knowing what they're like. If anyone is watching through the building's windows, they'll know that this is what Jean has been hiding. And in that moment, Jean, arms thrown around Nino's neck, doesn't care if anyone knows.

Jean pulls apart, if hesitantly, to breathe in. The air is as sharp as a snowflake. "Kind of."

Nino laughs. "You're so secretive about us, and then you greet me like this outside of your work?"

"I couldn't help it." It's true.

He's still laughing, soft and lovely, and hands Jean a helmet, which he dons. Jean climbs on the bike, wrapping his arms around Nino's chest. Nino adjusts his own helmet, turning to Jean. "You ready?"

Jean squeezes Nino. "I am."

Nino grins and turns back around. "So here we go." The motorcycle's engine roars to life, as does Jean's heart, and then they're off, heading wherever. Anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in 56 minutes w/ 17 minutes of editing. i still went over 60 hhh oh well
> 
> i thought it was fitting to end this at 13 stories. thanks for sticking w/ me!! i do have A Lot of other ninojean stuff i wrote last year/earlier this year but it gets kinda repetitive. tho w/ a bit of polishing maybe i'll put up some other big ol thing like this one... For The Team


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